


Many a Mile to Go

by lewilder



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Zutara Week 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-12-07 04:39:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11616054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lewilder/pseuds/lewilder
Summary: “Zuko’s smile is tentative, blooming slowly over his face, even though his eyes still look sad under his shaggy hair, and something unfurls in answer in Katara’s chest, warm and welcome.” A love story told in everyday moments.A series of loosely interrelated drabbles for Zutara Week 2017.





	1. i. fire lady

**i. fire lady.**

_s3, ember island._

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“Chop these smaller, please,” Katara says, reaching over to the spot next to her and taking one of the squares of stew vegetables that Zuko has cut, sliding it under her own knife and then halving it before sliding it back to him.  “They’ll cook more quickly that way and I’m running late for dinner—waterbending practice with Aang took longer than usual and everyone’s going to be hungry soon.”

The kitchen in the Fire Lord’s house on Ember Island is well outfitted and now that Katara has cleaned the dust off of everything, she has a better set of pots and pans than she’s ever had access to in her life.  If she has to cook for crowds, she’d rather have good equipment to do so.

And ever since they’ve come to Ember Island, Zuko has been helping her with her chores.  Not all of them, of course, but when he has spare time, he’ll come and spend time with her, helping with whatever task she’s working on.  More often than not, that’s cooking. 

He starts fires for her, helps her chop vegetables and fruit and gut fish for their meals.  He’s even started brewing tea for her in the mornings, asking for her feedback because he says he wants to improve his skills, and even though she has little experience with tea in her homeland, she knows what she likes and doesn’t like and she tells him that. 

She reminds him, too, that his uncle will be glad to help him learn more, but he always averts his eyes and changes the subject when she brings that up.  So she makes sure to bring it up often, because she thinks he needs to hear it.

This afternoon, they are working on a quick vegetable stew—one meal for everyone.  Sokka will survive without meat and he can eat jerky with the stew if he’s desperate, Katara reasons.  But he probably will be desperate, which is why she’s already set out some strips of jerky to take out with the bowls when they serve dinner.  Katara plans to make enough stew to last through dinner tonight and lunch tomorrow.  Everyone else is outside and the kitchen is relatively quiet, the sounds of their shouts in the courtyard sometimes slipping in on the wind through the open window.

Zuko moves his pile of chopped vegetables back to the starting side and begins again without comment.  Katara marvels silently at the difference between this boy and the one she fought at the North Pole.  “Yeah, I noticed you guys were out there for a long time today.”

“You noticed?”  Katara quirks an eyebrow and looks at him briefly before returning to her own chopping.  On the other side of the kitchen, a kettle bubbles with the beginnings of a stew.

“You watch Aang when Toph and I train him.  I watch him when you and Toph train him.  We’re his teachers, so we need to know his strengths and weaknesses if he’s going to be ready to face my father at the comet.”  The defensiveness falls out of his tone when he says, “And I mean, you’re usually back inside by mid-afternoon for tea.  You weren’t today.”  He pushes a new pile of smaller vegetables toward her.

“Right,” Katara says.  That makes sense.  Zuko takes Aang’s training more seriously than the rest of them do most of the time, and it makes Katara uneasy to think that that might because of his personal experience with Ozai.  The thought of Aang fighting when he’s so unprepared makes her nervous, but the butterflies of nerves that flutter in her stomach when she thinks about the upcoming confrontation calm a little when she remembers Zuko’s attention to Aang’s training.  Aang’s teachers’ devotion to his learning can’t make him master all forms of bending, but it’s a start.

“Thank you for helping me,” she adds, pushing her own vegetables into the large pile of chunks they’re amassing.  “It’s nice to have _someone_ help out around here.”

“Yeah, of course,” Zuko says.  “I like—” He coughs.  “It’s nice to spend time with you.  You know, now that you’re not actively trying to kill me.”

When Katara looks up at him, Zuko is smiling, head tilted in challenge.  It dawns on her that he’s _teasing_ , and she likes this better than when he tries to retell his uncle’s jokes about tea.

Before she can reply, Sokka shouts for her.  “Hey, Katara!”  When he walks in and sees that Zuko’s there, too, he high-fives Zuko and then says, “Suki and I are going somewhere that’s not here for a while.  You guys make sure Toph doesn’t kill Aang, okay?  They’re practicing earthbending and Toph does _not_ sound happy.”

“I’ll make sure they survive,” Katara replies, waving him off.  “You kids have fun!”  She stretches her smile falsely large, knife poised in the air like a distorted thumbs-up, and Sokka makes a face at her.  He reaches out and places his hand over hers, moving the knife back to the vegetables.

“Easy there, sis.”

Then he’s gone, and she sees both him and Suki pass the doorway before their footsteps fade away.

Katara resumes her task, but her mood is slightly soured.  She’s happy for Sokka and Suki, but for all that her world has grown so much during this year of traveling, it also means that her family is splintering off even further and in more directions.

“I don’t know if Sokka will come back to the South Pole,” is what she says when she speaks again.

Zuko snorts and Katara pauses in her chopping to glare at him.  “What?”

“He might not,” Zuko agrees, “but he’s only, what, fifteen?  I mean, I hope it works out for them, but—a lot can change with time.”

Katara frowns and turns back to her chopping.  “ _You’re_ only, like, sixteen,” she retorts.  “So it’s not like you know that much more than he does.  And besides, my parents got married when they were sixteen,” she says, jutting out her chin like the fact is a challenge.  “They had a good marriage.”

Out of her peripheral vision, she can see Zuko pause for a moment in his work.  It’s been only a few weeks since they traveled to Whale Tail Island together and everything from that trip still sits fresh in their memories.  “I’m glad you have those memories,” he says finally.  “I think my mom was eighteen when she married my father.  They didn’t have what your parents did.”

“No,” Katara acknowledges, remembering greenish, glowing light and trying to reconcile that information with the boy she knows better, now.  “I guess they didn’t.”  Their knives nick at the surface of the wood, slicing through vegetable fiber.  “I’m sorry.”

It seems inadequate, so she tries to change the subject.  “What about you?”

“What _about_ me?”

Katara shrugs, but even as she speaks, the questions that came into her head somehow feel important to know, now that she’s asking them.  “Do you have a girlfriend back home?  Or someone who’s promised to you politically?”

“Um…no.”  Zuko shoves the last pile of produce over to Katara decisively and wipes his hands on his shirt.  “I was arranged to be married to a high-ranking nobleman’s daughter, years ago, but that contract ended when I was banished and taken out of line for the throne.  I never even met her.  And I, uh, I had a girlfriend in the Fire Nation, but…we broke up.  Recently.  So, nope.  No one for me.”

“Oh.”  Katara nods.  “I see.”  She resists the urge to ply him with questions about his ex-girlfriend and instead piles up the vegetables in her palms and then into a bowl, which she then takes over to the bubbling pot.  When she drops them in, she steps back out of habit to avoid any splashes of hot broth, then sets down the bowl and picks up a spoon to stir it.  As the spoon glides through the simmering stew, a question occurs to her.  “What would happen if Azula became Fire Lord?”

“Mass destruction,” Zuko says without hesitation.  He walks a few steps toward Katara, again a comfortable presence by her side.  “She’s just like my father.”

The pain in his voice is palpable and Katara finds herself wanting to reach out to him and comfort him.  Instead, she keeps stirring, waiting for the stew to bubble despite her ministrations.  Food is its own comfort.

“No, I meant—” she looks up at the bitter expression on his face and offers him a small smile.  “I meant, would she have to marry?  What would happen if she doesn’t have any children?  She doesn’t exactly seem like the mothering type.  And what would her consort’s title be?  I’ve heard…”  She hesitates for a moment, then ploughs ahead.  “Toph called your mother the Fire Lady once.  What if the Fire Lord is a woman and the consort a man?  How does the title change?”

Zuko blinks at her, and Katara’s answering smile is bigger this time.  “We have chiefs in the Southern Water Tribe,” she says.  “The spouses don’t get titles.  I thought they might in the Fire Nation, though, so I was curious.”

“Oh.”  Zuko takes a moment to consider.  “The last time the Fire Lord was a woman was 400 years ago.  I guess I should have paid better attention to my tutors, because I don’t even remember her name.  And, uh, my mother was never actually the Fire Lady because she disappeared before my father became Fire Lord, so technically she was only the Fire Princess when she…left.  She’s—she’s the Fire Lady now, but she’s never been here while she held the title.  You can tell that to Toph the next time you need something to hold over her head.”

Zuko’s smile is tentative, blooming slowly over his face, even though his eyes still look sad under his shaggy hair, and something unfurls in answer in Katara’s chest, warm and welcome.  “I’ll do that,” she says.

She glances out the window at the sunshine, squints as she measures the distance it’s traveled toward the horizon.  “Dinner should be ready in time,” she says.  “Thanks for your help.”

“You’re welcome,” Zuko says, ducking his head with the words, an almost-shy gesture Katara doesn’t recognize from the prince who hunted them across the world.  “Everyone needs to eat, right?”

“Yeah,” Katara says.  After a moment of consideration, she sets her spoon aside and reaches for Zuko’s hand.  When she touches him, Zuko stiffens in surprise, but then his fingers are curling around hers, still slightly sticky from their kitchen work.  “Come on, let’s go check on Toph and Aang.  Dinner’s just about ready.”


	2. ii. underwater

**ii. underwater**

_s2, ba sing se._

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Katara picks her way through the crowded streets of Ba Sing Se’s Upper Ring as she walks back to the house from her errand, grumbling to herself.   It should have been Sokka, really, who ran this errand, because _he_ was the one who bought the shoes in the first place.  It’s not _her_ fault he misjudged his shoe size in his enthusiasm about the exposed contrasting stitching.  _She_ shouldn’t be the one who has to return the shoes.  (She does, however, refuse to buy him new ones.  She will not risk buying the wrong size because she doesn’t want to have to run this return errand again.)

Appa’s missing.  King Kuei doesn’t believe them that there’s a war going on.  Katara shifts her shoulders slightly as she walks, now that her hands are free of her package, trying to convince the tight knot of tension that permanently dwells in the middle of her back to dispel. 

There are other priorities besides Sokka’s shoes and so she fumes silently while she walks.  The day sits grey around her, the white houses that sparkle in the sunshine now blending in with the dingy atmosphere.

Katara looks around her and suppresses a shudder.  She quickens her pace; suddenly, she just wants to get home to her friends.

Ba Sing Se is often sunny, although sometimes the wind blows through the streets and whips leaves and loose awnings free.  But today, everyone seems to be feeling the clouds’ effects, from the merchant shouting at his assistant to the child crying beside her doll that she’d dropped in the dirt.

And of course it would be just Katara’s luck that on a day like today, she runs across _Prince Zuko_ , of all people.

He looks different—so different that she doesn’t recognize him at first.  He’s much skinnier, and his ponytail is gone in favor of hair that’s growing in from being shorn, only just more than moonpeach fuzz.  He’s wearing just-above-ragged Earth Kingdom clothes and a wide-brimmed hat.

The edge of the market area is full of people, and Katara looks up from navigating the street’s transition from cobbled to dirt road at just the right time and in just the right angle to see Zuko’s scar.

Then she does a double take, and then she puts the rest of the picture together.

Zuko is _here_ , in the city, and he must be hunting for Aang.

He’s only a few feet from her when her surprise makes her stop short, and then his arm bumps against her.  She could let him pass, walk on quickly, and he might not notice; after all, the air hums with the sounds of vendors and flies alike.

She _should_ let him pass, probably.

Instead, her near-shouted, “Hey!” trills from her throat more squeakily than she had intended.

If Zuko hears her, he doesn’t give any indication, but then she grabs his shirt at the shoulder, plucks at the coarse material, and the banished prince turns to look at her, _really_ look at her.

His golden eyes widen, and his hands fumble with his grip on the twine-wrapped package he’s holding.

“What are you _doing_ here?” she demands in a hiss, leaning in so she can be heard while half-pushing him toward the edge of the street.

Zuko scowls at her and yanks his arm free from her grasp.  “None of your business!” he hisses back.

“Yes, it is!” Katara insists.  “I have my friends to protect.”

“If you have your _friends_ to protect,” Zuko sneers, “why did you stop me?  I didn’t even see you.”

“Some hunter you are,” Katara scoffs, crossing her arms and frowning at him, “if you didn’t even see me in this crowd.”

Zuko sighs, rolls his eyes under the shadow of his hat, exasperated.  “I wasn’t _looking_ for you,” he grunts, shifting the twine-tied wooden box under one of his arms and tapping his fingers along its edge, a grating beat.  “I was running an errand.”

“Buying war supplies?”

“Buying _tea leaves_.  And it’s still not any of your business,” Zuko grumbles, scowling at her again.

The scowl distorts his face, makes the scar seem more prominent.  In the course of her few interactions with the haughty prince, Katara has come to accept it as part of his face, the face of the enemy, part of her visual definition of _Zuko_.  Now, when he glowers at her like that, her mind stutters to the idea that the scar makes him look like some sort of small, angry deity.  An insulted demigod, fallen from the heights and forced to live with _peasants_.

And utterly disgusted by it.

“You’ve never let our lives _not_ be your business,” she retorts, and taps her foot on the dirt, ending up with a dusty shoe for her irritation.

That pauses him for a moment, and his glower softens, in degrees.  “That’s because—”  He swallows, looks for words.  “Oh, you wouldn’t understand!”

“I wouldn’t understand that you have it out for me and my friends all for your country that’s killed all of our families?  I wouldn’t understand that you’re just a puppet doing whatever you’re told to do without thinking of what it might mean?  What exactly wouldn’t I understand?”

His eyes and nostrils flare, and his next words come out through gritted teeth.  “Like.  I.  Said.”

Katara looks around and realizes that they are standing near the bridge she and Toph crossed on their way to and from the spa.  Inspiration strikes.

“I’ve seen people tossed off of this bridge before,” she says.  “Would you like to join them?  They survived, of course, but they spent some time underwater to help them learn a lesson first.”

Zuko’s eyes narrow.  “Were you the one that did it?”

“No, but I _could_ do it.”

“You could,” he acknowledges, and that’s more credit than he gave her at the North Pole, and a small part of her is pleased by that, even as she is very, very tempted by the current flowing beneath them.  “But then my uncle’s tea would be ruined and you’d hate to break his heart, wouldn’t you?”

His words are sarcastic, but Katara is surprised to hear what sounds like genuine _care_ underlying them.  Zuko loves his uncle, and even if there’s not much else she cares to give him credit for, she will give him credit for that.  She understands that, the love of family.

And something like pity coils inside her as she imagines Iroh waiting in some squalid apartment for Zuko to return.  Zuko isn’t dressed like a prince any longer, and how much of their reduced circumstances’ coin has been spent on that tea?  Zuko was in the Upper Ring for his shopping, after all, and he isn’t dressed like he normally lives here.

“So go then,” she says, straightening her shoulders.  “And stay away from us!”

Zuko only glares at her more, then adjusts the tea-box with determination and stalks away.

Katara stays standing on the bridge for a long moment, watching his skinny form leave her behind a pounding footstep at a time.

The grey skies stay for the rest of the day, and Sokka is disappointed that she didn’t bring home new shoes for him.

“I _told_ you I wasn’t going to do that,” Katara says.

“But, sis, you _could_ have!” Sokka protests from across the room, where Aang is spinning marbles in an air current and Sokka is trying to knock them out of orbit with his boomerang.

Katara could have bought him new shoes, yes.  But she could have done a lot of things today, and she didn’t.


	3. iii. steamy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here is the almost-middle-aged dadko no one asked for. you're welcome.

**iii. steamy**

_post-series, caldera._

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The one time a waterbender extinguishes all of the flames around the Fire Lord’s throne comes when Katara is eighteen and newly married and more than tired of the delicate pai-sho political maneuverings that accompany her new position.

No matter how much she loves Zuko, there are only so many insinuations of the Fire Nation’s superiority that she can take in one day of meetings.

So she hauls the water from the jugs that line the walls of the throne room, pulls it into a long line above the flames, and drops it on them unceremoniously.

The councilmen are highly offended, and even Zuko, who usually sides with Katara in matters of conflict with the Fire Nation, privately admits that they might have a point.

“It’s a national symbol,” he sighs, flopping onto the bed next to her and throwing his arm across his eyes, “and even though I keep the flames much lower than the Fire Lords before me did, they mean something.  If you put them out, it looks like you don’t respect the Fire Nation throne.  And you’re part of that now.  You’re the Fire Lady.  We’re here for peace, right?”

And he rolls to look at her, searchingly, and her heart breaks a little bit at the doubt that still lingers in his eyes.  How many years of being loved will it take to undo the years of uncertainty he grew up with?

Katara nods, the fabric beneath her cheek rustling her hair and making it catch near her mouth.  She pushes it aside.  “We’re here for peace.”

Her hand searches out Zuko’s, squeezes reassurance.  “The councilmen are awful sometimes, though.”

Zuko chuckles, soft and familiar by her side.  “They did send Fire Sage Shu to talk to you.  They know you like him best.”

“Because he’s the only one that’s not a hard-headed imbecile,” Katara huffs.

“Still.”

“Yeah, all right.  I promise not to douse all the fire in the throne room again.”

.

Instead, Zuko and Katara come up with a code.  And when small hisses of steam come up from areas where only a _tiny portion_ of the throne room’s flames have been extinguished, Zuko knows that Katara’s patience is exhausted and they’ll be heading to the training arena to spar after the meeting is over.

There’s something she finds symbolic about putting out the fireballs he throws, one after the other.

And when she’s calmed her temper, they spar for real, and both feel better for it.

.

Today, the first _hiss_ of water extinguishing flame comes from Zuko’s right, but the council chamber is empty and Katara is visiting one of the city’s hospitals.

The meeting today was exhausting, and so Zuko was sitting in silence, mulling over the future, his tired eyes closed where his head rests on his hand.

At the sound of the steam, Zuko lowers his hand from his forehead and opens his eyes.

There’s only one waterbender besides Katara who approaches the throne so casually, and Zuko can feel the developing wrinkles that reveal his advancing age crinkle around his good eye as he smiles.

“Izumi.”

“Hey, Dad.”  His oldest daughter is seventeen now and she walks toward the throne slowly, pulling more water from the large jars that line the walls and putting out small licks of fire beside her path.

The air becomes more humid and Zuko sighs inwardly.  Except for her eyes, which Katara insists look like his, even though he can’t see it in the way they sparkle with her mother’s life and drive, Izumi looks just like Katara.  Bound only by hours in the day and ready to take on the world.

And, like her mother, she has spent much of her life maneuvering to keep her life _her own_ despite the council’s decisions.  She is the oldest child of Fire Lord Zuko and Fire Lady Katara, and with that comes certain responsibilities.  Some that she takes on willingly, and some that she only wishes she could.

“It’s official now, huh?”  Izumi stops in front of Zuko, looks him in the eye with all of her teenaged defiance poised in her stance.

“It is.”  Zuko reaches his hand out, and his daughter steps forward to take it.  “Sunshine, I—”

Izumi steps in line beside him, turning to face the room through the row of flames that now flicker low again.

“It’s okay, Dad.  We talked about it.”  Out of the corner of his eye, Zuko can see Izumi tap her free hand to her chin, and her voice drops lower in imitation.  “‘You see, Izumi, while the Fire Nation usually practices primogeniture, your mom and I just don’t think the country is ready to accept a waterbending Fire Lord.’”

“You’ve been hanging out with your uncle Sokka too much.  I did not use the term ‘primogeniture’.”

Izumi laughs, a soft huff that shakes her shoulders, and squeezes her father’s hand.  “Pretty sure you did, Dad.  You do a great job at public speeches, but you’re kind of the worst at private ones.”  She swings his hand gently in hers.  “I’m still not sure how you convinced Mom to marry you.”

Her words are teasing, but her smile when Zuko turns his head toward her is all affection.  He still doesn’t know how he got so lucky as to have the family he has.

Zuko ignores Izumi’s comment and instead says, “You would have been a great Fire Lord, Izumi.”

His daughter hums, a sound of almost-approval against the soft bite of background flames.  “I know.  But I’ve also known for a while that I couldn’t.  It’s just—so many of the people in our country are so great, but—they all remember the war.  And they haven’t all forgiven you for marrying Mom.”  She sighs.  “Lu Ten will do a good job, too, Dad.  He and I are a team, you know?  The two oldest kids who manage to help you and Mom look after the horde that followed us.  And I can still tell him everything he’s doing wrong as Fire Lord.”

Izumi and Lu Ten had come quickly after Katara and Zuko’s marriage, and barely over a year apart.  It had been all Zuko and Katara could do to keep their heads above water while dealing with volatile politics and new parenthood at the same time.

So it makes sense that four years passed before the next child came along.  But after seeing Izumi and Lu Ten start to become little _people_ with love and laughter to share, Zuko had been much less afraid of his family becoming like his birth family.  It was hard to think that way, when Izumi curled against his side for a story or Lu Ten ran so fast toward him that the toddler tripped, excited to show off a new firebending form he’d learned.

And then, like most things in their lives, when Zuko and Katara put their minds to something, they didn’t always quite know when to _stop_.

Which is why there are seven royal children wreaking havoc in the palace and Katara blames him for all of her gray hairs.

“No more babies,” she’ll say, but then her eyes shine with adoration for the ones they already have, and even though Zuko _thinks_ they’re done, she’ll pull him in for a kiss and then he’s not quite sure.

Resting without a challenge has never been something either of them is good at, something years of scrabbling by in a wartorn world hasn’t made them accustomed to, but even if they don’t have any more babies at their age, they have no shortage of family to love.

“It’s been great,” Izumi says now, breaking into his thoughts.  “The kids are all great.  But I was talking to Mom and I think I might go visit the North Pole for a while, after Lu Ten’s officially made the heir.  It’s been a while since I trained with Yugoda there, and, given your history, I’ll probably have a new sibling to deliver soon.”

“Izumi…”

“I know, Dad,” she laughs.  “Not my business.  But yeah, I think I’m ready for a change.  Maybe you and Mom could come visit me there next summer and I could show you everything I’ve learned.”

Zuko smiles and squeezes his daughter’s hand again.  “We’d love that.  Work out the details with your mom and we’ll make it happen.”

“Good,” Izumi says, and leans down to kiss his head.  “I’m going to go kick Lu Ten’s butt at training now.  You should go find Mom,” she says.  “She should be home by now and she’s been worried that I’m having a breakdown all day and doesn’t believe me when I tell her I’m fine.  Go tell her for me, okay?”

“Of course,” Zuko says, and stands to kiss his daughter on the cheek before they both walk down the platform, away from the flames, together.


	4. iv. icarus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> many people went mythological with this prompt and created some absolutely lovely, majestic pieces. i, however, went for the feel of the myth, which is to have tried too hard for something only to have it come falling down around you. sorry not sorry for the angst.

  **iv. icarus**

_post-series, hira’a, mid-comics. for this story’s purposes, the events of ‘the search’ are mostly taken as canon._

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It hurts in all sorts of ways Zuko didn’t expect, getting his mother back.  For years, he’d clung to his memories of her as the hope that someday he’d be able to forge some sort of family again.  He’d find out what happened to his mother, and if she was dead, he’d put her to rest in his heart with a proper memorial and mourning, and if she was alive, he’d find her and let her know that she was safe, that she could come back and be near him and Azula, that she didn’t need to fear Ozai’s wrath any longer.

He’d never expected that she’d abandon him, too.  He’d never been the son Ozai wanted, never strong enough, never a good enough firebender, never scheming enough to suit his father’s purposes.  But his mother—his mother had loved him, he’d thought.  She’d committed murder to keep him safe.  But then she’d just decided that her life would be better without him.  Without any _memory_ of him.

She’d given up on him for her own comfort.  He didn’t think mothers _did_ that.  At least, he didn’t think his would.

All of his wishing, all of his hoping, all of his waiting for the day when he could reunite what was left of his family—it had all been for nothing.  Because his mother didn’t love him enough to _remember_ him.

He sees the new life she’s crafted for herself—a new husband, a new daughter—and  he does what he’s learned to do:  he offers to let her keep her new life, he lets what’s good for others supersede what’s good for him.  He’s used to being alone by now, and he can mourn her loss in his own way and keep an eye on her from a distance.  He’s the Fire Lord; he can have people check up on her, make sure she’s okay.

When the Mother of Faces restores Ursa’s memory, Zuko doesn’t know how to feel.  His mother is _back_ , in a way, but that doesn’t change the fact that she _left_ , and just because she decided she wants to remember him now that things are more peaceful doesn’t change the fact that she abandoned all memory of him during the turbulent years, when one of the only things that gave him hope was his memory of her.

Kiyi hugs him enthusiastically, chortles over her new big brother, and he agrees to meet with Ursa the next day to hear the story of how the past seven years have gone for her.

Over Kiyi’s head, Katara meets his gaze.  She smiles, just like he smiles at Ursa, but there’s a hollowness in her eyes that he recognizes.

It’s only when they’re back at their camp in the woods that Zuko allows the full reality of the day’s revelations to hit him.  When they do, he curls his fingers into the grass and sobs until his chest hurts and he doesn’t throw up, but it’s a close thing with the way his stomach is tied up in knots.

It’s what must have been a long time before Zuko realizes that Aang and Sokka have gone off somewhere to give him space and that Katara is kneeling beside him, hands folded on her skirts, watching him intently.

He feels a deep blush stain his cheeks and it’s only when he finally musters the courage to look up at her that she reaches out to him.

It starts as a gentle hand on his shoulder but soon become an all-enveloping hug as he rests his head on _her_ shoulder, his hands resting on her back and her arms wrapping around his chest tightly.

“She shouldn’t have done that.”  Katara’s whisper is as fierce as it is quiet, a breathed _whoosh_ of sound past his good ear.  “If she was the only one left, maybe.  If you and Azula were dead and there was only Ozai’s presence to haunt her.  But you and Azula aren’t—you _weren’t_ —dead and she shouldn’t have just abandoned you for her own comfort.”

“She suffered at Ozai’s hands, too,” Zuko croaks out, burying his face farther into the warmth of Katara’s embrace.  “She murdered my grandfather to save my life.  Maybe she deserved the break she got from her pain.”

“While you and Azula were still in Ozai’s grasp?”  Katara’s voice cuts through the stillness like the ice she wields, all sharp edges.  “She might not have been able to help you directly, but she should have tried—she should have been _listening_ , watching to see what happened to you, seeing if there was any way she could help.  She’s your _mother_.”  The word has never been so much a benediction and a curse combined.  “She played her own games, too,” Katara continues, “or you never would have thought for a moment that Ikem might have been your father.”

“I still want to get to know her.”  It feels like too much, saying this, _admitting_ this, after everything Ursa had done to leave him behind.  “She’s _here_ now, she remembers me _now_ , and I don’t want to be left behind again, or to leave her behind.  Is that wrong?”

“No, Zuko.”  Katara’s lips are close to his hair, ruffling it with her breath, warm and reassuring.  “It’s not wrong.  We can do whatever you want—if you want to move Ursa and Ikem and Kiyi to Caldera to be close to you, we can do that.  If they want to stay here, we can make sure you get to visit them often.  They’re family,” and her tone is a little softer now, “and they’re yours.  If I could have my mother back…”  Her voice drifts off, sad, but firmer when she starts again.  “I would never take that away from you.”

“And you?” Zuko feels so shaky, he’s surprised his voice sounds as steady as it does.  Katara is warm through the blue fabric of her dress, her familiar presence grounding him.  He can see her mother’s necklace out of the corner of his eye, the pendant a glimmer in the side of his consciousness.  He hasn’t yet decided on the best way to combine their countries’ betrothal traditions, but he knows he won’t be taking that necklace away from her, ever.  “You’ll be there, too?”

Katara’s hug tightens and she presses a kiss to his hair.  “I’ll be there.  Always.”


	5. v. modern times

**v. modern times**

_post-series, earth kingdom._

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They are traveling through the Earth Kingdom on a return trip from a diplomatic mission to Omashu when Katara first brings up the subject.

“I want to take them to have their fortunes told,” she says, smoothing their son’s and daughter’s hair down as they nap, each one curled against their mother’s side.

Zuko looks up from where he’d been reading and blinks at his wife for a moment.  “…Why?” he asks finally.

“Well, I don’t want to take her to see _just any_ fortuneteller,” Katara says, sticking out her chin just slightly.  “I want to take her to see Aunt Wu, the one Aang, Sokka, and I visited when we were young.”

“But Katara, fortunetellers are scam artists,” Zuko says, folding the scroll he’d been reading into his lap and looking at her more closely.  The air is warm and thick in the train car, the new one they’re taking from Omashu to the sea.  “They make up stories to get your money.  They can’t really tell the future.”

Katara raises her eyebrow at him, and the combined effect with the frizzes of her topknot makes her look like a statue of a goddess, judging him for his lack of faith.  The edges of her hair catch in the sunlight, glowing golden against the dark brown of their mass.

“Aunt Wu,” she says primly, “was right about _us_.”

“All she said was that you’d marry a powerful bender,” Zuko says.  “And, given the fact that you were traveling with the Avatar at the time, it was probably a fairly correct assumption that you kept powerful company.”

“She also said you’d be tall,” Katara adds.

Zuko sighs.  “Another fairly easy assumption to make.”  He eyes Katara up and down.  “You’re short.”

Katara scowls at him, a goddess turned wrathful.  “I am _not_ —!”

Zuko _shushes_ her and points at their children, one of whom squirms in place and whines, but doesn’t awaken.  “And you are,” he whispers.  “But you’re the perfect short height.”

Katara huffs and rolls her eyes.  “You’re such a flatterer.”

“It’s not flattery if it’s true.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Is it working?”

“A little.”  She leans back against the seat again, still watching him warily.  She pats their daughter’s shoulder, smoothing down the silk of her gown, fingers catching on the embroidered pattern that covers the sleeves.  Dragons, just like her father, on a background of blue for her mother.  Her brother wears a matching jacket.  “We’re still going to see Aunt Wu,” she insists, “when we can make time in our schedules.”

“Are you _really_ sure?” Zuko asks, still skeptical.

Katara huffs again.  “You and Sokka are _so alike_.”

“I should have married him, then,” Zuko quips.

And Katara, master waterbender, daughter of the chief of the Southern Water Tribe, war hero, and Fire Lady, very calmly and deliberately sticks out her tongue at her husband.

Zuko returns the gesture, and they both burst into giggles that they have to suppress in order to keep their toddlers sleeping for a while longer.  The train ride shortens the trip to the sea, where they’ll board the royal yacht for the Fire Nation, but it is still a long trip for young children.

It’s a long trip for their parents, too.

A few days later, when they dock in the Fire Nation capital, Katara takes the same deep breath Zuko does when they step off the dock.  They’re home now.  She didn’t ever think the Fire Nation would be that for her, but her family is here.  And family is home.

“See?  You don’t need a fortune-teller to make sense of your life,” is what Zuko says when Katara tells him that thought, after they’ve tucked the children into their beds in the nursery and are walking down the palace halls to their own room.

“Says _you_ ,” Katara says, without heat.

When Zuko just grins and kisses her head, she pauses in their walk to turn to face him and kiss him properly.

“Still taking the kids to see Aunt Wu,” she says when she finally pulls back.

“Whatever you want,” Zuko promises, a little tongue-tied, and takes her hand again.  “Whatever you want.”


	6. vi. soulmates

**vi. soulmates**

_post-series, swt._

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“I swear, if I have _one more_ person asks me where the ponytail went, I am going to get back on my ship and not come off again until it’s time to get you to go back to the Fire Nation.”

Zuko flops down on one of the wooden benches that line the wall of Hakoda’s house, near enough to the fire to use it to help him warm his icy-wet toes.

Beside him, Katara giggles.  “Come on, now, Fire Lord, you don’t want to offend your betrothed’s Tribe, do you?  Any more than you already did three years ago?”

Zuko manages to simultaneously blush and scowl at her, and Katara bites her lip to keep her smile at bay.

After two weeks of trying to navigate her Tribe’s customs—which he really is getting much better at, when compared to his first post-war visit to her homeland—and also work out updated trade agreements, Zuko is nearing the end of his patience.

He says it makes him understand more of what it’s like for her, the prospect of coming to live in the Fire Nation for the rest of her life.  But it’s not quite the same for him, not really, because there is never a sense of _permanence_ when they’re here in the Southern Water Tribe.  It’s always temporary, but when Katara sets foot in the Fire Nation, the humid heat of that land coats her with a sense of permanence that she’s promised she won’t shake, ever.  She’s going to be giving up most of her customs to live with him, and she’s agreed to it, has promised herself to him, says she loves him more than her Tribe.  She is willing to marry Zuko both for the love of him and for the prospect of using their union to continue the world’s tentative peace, but still—the Fire Nation rules that she’s been learning, that a grim Mai and her bubbly counterpoint Ty Lee have teamed up to teach her from time to time during her visits, it’s all _so much_.  Here at home, there’s at least the comfort of knowing how to act.

Still, there’s not the comfort of place here that there was before she left for the war.  She can’t just huddle into her now-developing nation and be content.  She’ll always know there’s a bigger world out there, and—that Zuko’s out there, now.  She knows that and she loves him and for all that he’s sworn he’d gladly put the crown aside for her, if he could, and come to live on the tundra with her and her family, they both know he _can’t_.  If they’re selfish in their desire to be together, they can’t be _that_ selfish.  The Fire Nation is on a tremulous path to rebuilding, and if Zuko abdicated the throne, she doesn’t want to think about the kind of chaos the country would fall into once again.

“I don’t think I’ll ever screw up that badly again.”

Katara reaches over and pats his hand.  “Don’t worry.”  Her blue eyes sparkle with mirth.  “Gran Gran likes you now.”

“That’s a relief, at least,” Zuko huffs, maneuvering his hand so that they’re actually holding hands.

Then she leans in and kisses him, and some of his tension melts away.

When she sits back beside him, looking quite satisfied with herself, she catches the look in his eye that she’s starting to recognize, the one he can barely articulate because he still doesn’t quite believe it’s true:  that _she loves him_ and, together, they’re gambling on forever.  In a few months, it will be official, and Zuko will be her husband.

“It never hurts to be on Gran Gran’s good side,” Katara agrees, squeezing his hand again with a soft smile.

They sit in comfortable silence for a while, listening to the crackling of the fire and letting the smell of wood smoke slowly overpower the smell of _cold_ and _wet_ that pervades the air here.

“Do you know the legend of Oma and Shu?” Katara asks, breaking the silence.

Zuko thinks about it for a moment.  “The names sound familiar,” he says finally.  “Would I have heard about them in the Earth Kingdom?”

“Yes,” Katara hums, closing her eyes in the flickering light.  “The city of Omashu was named after them.”

“Omashu,” Zuko thinks it over.  “Oh.  That makes a lot of sense.”

“Yeah.”  Katara nods.  “The legend goes that Oma and Shu were from warring Earth Kingdom families, hundreds of years ago.  They fell in love and used their earthbending to build a network of tunnels so they could travel to see each other and meet secretly.  They were killed once they were discovered, but the Cave of Two Lovers just outside of Omashu is where they’re buried now.”

Zuko lets out a disbelieving noise.  “That’s so depressing.”

Katara hums.  “Maybe,” she says.  “But in the Earth Kingdom, they’re renowned as heroes for their love.  ‘ _Two lovers, forbidden from one another.  A war divides their people…_ ’”

Zuko doesn’t comment, but beside her, he swallows hard.

“We won’t end up buried in a tomb-shrine in the Earth Kingdom.”  Katara cracks her eyes open and smiles at him, fond and reassuring.  Another pause, and then, carefully, “Did I ever tell you about the time we visited a fortune-teller in the Earth Kingdom?”

Zuko’s mouth twists in amusement.  “No, I don’t think so.”

“Her name was Aunt Wu.”  Katara’s expression softens, warm with memory.  “She told me I’d marry a powerful bender.”  She grins.  “At the time, I thought she meant Aang.”

Zuko snorts.  “He was just a _kid_.”

“ _I know_.  But I was wrong, and she was still right.”

She sighs then, and says, “I used to believe in soulmates.  I thought that there was one person out there for you, and you had to find them.  I thought my mom and dad were soulmates, because they were so strong.  But now Dad’s marrying someone else and I had to think about it some more and…  Now I think a lot of love is just making it work with whoever you’re with.  If you’re two basically good people who are committed to each other, you’ll fight through the hard times and have a good life.”

Zuko’s next words are careful.  “You could have married a warrior from the Northern Water Tribe and had a much simpler life.”

Katara’s smile stays its soft, fond tint.  “But I chose _you_.  I’ve never shied away from complicated.  I would have left Aang in that iceberg if I did.  And then I’d have only known you as the pompous prince who attacked us.”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” Zuko says sincerely.

“Yeah,” Katara agrees.  “Me, too.”


	7. vii. starlight

**vii. starlight.**

_s3, alternate end-of-war gathering in ba sing se_.

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It’s quiet now, after the hubbub of the day has passed.  Everyone else is in bed except for Iroh, who works in the kitchen by the light of a single lamp, cleaning up the mess of the day.  Katara offers to help him, and he allows her to do so for a while, chatting pleasantly, but as the hour gets later, he shoos her away, telling her to go find Zuko.

She does, and finds him where he stands out on the balcony, looking over the city.  The sky stretches wide, full of stars, above them.  Zuko looks softer in the starlight, muted and drenched in quiet.  The months since the end of the war have been long and hard on him, and when Katara had first seen him earlier that morning for the first time since the week after his coronation, she was shocked at how gaunt and exhausted he’d looked.

_You didn’t tell me in your letters_ , she’d chided.

_There wasn’t a need_ , he’d said.

She’d strongly disagreed and told him so.

_You look just as tired as I do_ , he’d shot back at her.

_Of course.  The world needs to be rebuilt.  But I haven’t forgotten to_ eat _._

_Only sometimes_ , he’d protested.

_I’m taking you to Iroh_ , she’d said, and dragged him to the kitchen, supervising as he’d eaten a bowl of noodles.

Now, she walks up beside him, sliding her arm through his and squeezing softly.  “Hey.”

“Hey,” he says, taking his gaze from the sky and focusing it on her.  “Why are you still up?”

“I was helping Iroh clean, but then he sent me to find you.”

“I’m glad he did,” Zuko says, soft.  “I missed you these past few months.”

Katara nods.  “Me, too,” she says.  “I…got used to being around you, at the end of the war.  It was nice, and I missed it.”

“Yeah.”  Zuko’s fingers skim along the balcony railing, tapping out a soft rhythm beneath the edges of his sleeves.

Katara reaches over, gently, and soothes them with her own.

“It’s been two months now,” Katara says.  “And I’ve only heard reports of how hard life is in the Fire Nation now.  It’s not safe.”

“No,” Zuko agrees, a haunted look in his eyes.  “It’s not.”

“It never was, I guess, in lots of places.”

“No, it never was.  The general populace is more secure now that they’re not being conscripted and sent to their deaths on battlefields or working themselves to death in munitions factories, but the nobility is just as perilous as it’s always been, with infighting and factions.  Some people like me, some people don’t,” he says bluntly.

“The ones who do will win,” Katara reassures him.

Zuko pulls a sour face.  “You don’t know that for sure.”

“I _do_ , Zuko.  Because you’re a good leader and the people of the Fire Nation are strong.  You’ll help them find peace.  You’ll lead them well.”

Zuko’s expression softens, and he glances back toward the interior of the tea shop.  “You sound like Uncle.”

“If I do, it’s because Iroh’s _right_ ,” Katara insists.  “He told me he’s moving back to the Fire Nation to be with you.”

Zuko looks down, a faint blush barely visible in the dim light.  His fingers flex under Katara’s, pressing into the cool stone railing.  “He doesn’t have to.”

Katara takes a step closer.  “He doesn’t have to,” she agrees, “but he’s doing it because he wants to.  Because he loves you.”

Zuko blinks and looks up at the stars above them.

Katara squeezes his hand again, and uses the gentle space of night between them to cocoon her words as she speaks next.

“What would you say if I told you I thought I loved you, too?  Not like an uncle, but like a girl who loves a boy.”

There is a long, long pause and Katara can see Zuko staring at her out of the corner of her eye, looking gobsmacked.  His pulse is racing; she can sense that much from the hand she has on his and his pulsing chi.  She stares resolutely at the stars.

“I—I’d say I don’t know why you do,” he says finally.

“If I said you were brave and kind and loyal, would you believe me?”

“But I betrayed—”

“And we have all forgiven you,” Katara interrupts, firmly, turning to look at him to make sure he understands.

He watches her carefully for a moment, then says, “I would still say I don’t see why, but…  I’ve thought for a while that I might love you, too.”

Katara phrases her next words slowly; she feels like she needs to think them over as they come out of her mouth, even though she’s considered the possibility of this conversation countless times in the past two months.  “I think it’s possible, in this new world, to be together even though we’re from different nations.”

Zuko’s free hand moves and he rubs the back of his neck, coughing slightly.  “I, uh, I may have spoken to Uncle about the possibilities.  He, um, he had some ideas.  He thought we could probably make it work.  Convince the councilors.  And stuff.”

The tension that had been mounting around her spine at Zuko’s hesitation melts in affection.  Katara’s eyes shine with joy when she looks up at him.  “We wouldn’t jump into things,” she says, schooling herself into practicality.  “I still have travels to make; I have to help my Tribe rebuild.  I’m planning to spend some time up North, too, learning healing in more detail.  But I’d like it if I could make the Fire Nation a stopping point, as well as the Southern Water Tribe.”

“You’d come back to me?”

Katara raises her eyebrow, hoping she only looks mildly annoyed at being questioned, not burning in anger at Ozai for making his son question his worth at every turn.  “Of course I would.  If you’ll have me,” she says, because turnaround seems polite.

Zuko clears his throat.  “Yeah,” he says, a little too forcefully.  Warmth at his certainty curls in Katara’s stomach and her fingers seem to close around his again, tighter, in response.  “Yeah, I—I’d like that, too.  A lot.”

Katara smiles up at him, then leans up on tiptoe and kisses his cheek before curling herself against his side.  He wraps his arm around her, and they watch the stars in silence for a long time.  It feels like too much, too much possibility to comprehend, here at the beginning of life after the war.  But if she’s going to face it with anyone, she’d very much like to face it with him.

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_fin._


End file.
